Haunted

Eight

Sam's smile vanishes and my stomach drops, the sick feeling amplifying.

"No," he whispers. "That can't be." The ghost spins to face me, frantic. "He wouldn't have been due for another month!"

"Babies can be born early," I mutter, trying to direct my words towards Sam.

Caleb hears anyway and leans closer. "What?"

I sigh. "Nothing."

Caleb frowns at my short response. "Are you going to explain what's going on?"

I peek up at Sam who has begun to pace again. "Yeah. I'll explain, but you're not going to like it."

Myka scoots closer to me and rests a hand on my knee. "We can handle it."

A picture of Caleb lying dead in the woods flashes in my mind and I wince.

"I hope so," I whisper to myself.

"Don't tell him who I am," Sam says quickly.

I frown in his direction. "Why not?"

"He's gone his entire life thinking his father left him before he was even born. Imagine suddenly finding out that your dad was murdered."

My lips tighten because I don't have to imagine that.

It already happened.

And I'm pretty sure it was my fault.

No one could explain how the fire in my childhood home started. But I know. I may not remember my parents or my life with them, but I vividly remember the man who set the walls of my house ablaze. He had been unnaturally tall. His thin arms reached down to his knees, and his face was skull-like.

Just thinking about him now makes me shiver in fear.

I've never been able to shake the image of the anger in his expression as he walked towards me, while everything around him burned.

It's my earliest memory.

My second memory is waking up in an ambulance with an oxygen mask over my face.

It wasn't until later that I learned the truth. There was no angry man. Just a malicious spirit who didn't want me to survive the night.

But I did.

And my parents didn't.

"Let's help Caleb make it past midnight first," Sam continues. He attempts a small smile, but it's shaky. "Then I'll be more than happy for you to tell him who I am."

I bite at my lip and nod, mentally preparing myself before turning to the other members of the living.

"I'm going to give the short story, because time is officially something we don't have." Myka keeps her hand on my knee, and I focus on that small comfort as Caleb shifts uncomfortably. How can I say this gently?

"Caleb is cursed."

Nailed it.

Myka and Caleb immediately open their mouths and start shooting off question after question. Not surprising, but I need them to shut up. So I hold a finger up in the air and they both go quiet.

"Caleb is cursed," I repeat, turning to the boy himself. "From what I've learned from Sam, a malicious spirit will try to kill you the moment you turn twenty."

I watch as Caleb's face pales to an alarming shade of white. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to tell him that he might only have hours to live. Myka's hand on my knee stiffens and after a moment, Caleb stands and begins to pace like his father was.